


Shadows in the dark of corners

by victoriousscarf



Series: Can the City Forgive I Hear Its Sad Song [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 10:31:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5925220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriousscarf/pseuds/victoriousscarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce and Dick, before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows in the dark of corners

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even want to talk about how many times I tried to post this story.
> 
> Dick is somewhere between 10 and 13 here.

Dick realized that Bruce didn't understand he knew who he was. And that he never would.

He wasn't sure exactly how Bruce came to that particular delusion, considering that all of Gotham knew exactly who Bruce Wayne was.

It was a survival mechanism after all.

When Dick had seen his form come out of the shadows in that alley, he had given up then and there. Caught between the slavers trying to catch him with their manacles and the Warlord's prize lieutenant, he'd stopped trying to escape up the fire escape and had gone limp, as if playing dead would help him at all. The slavers who had been reaching for him got him, and dragged him violently to the ground. He let them, and when they dropped him, he lay there. 

In that moment he honestly couldn't tell which would be a better fate.

For months he'd been on his own, and he'd known his luck would not be able to last. Eventually _someone_ was going to catch him.

At least it wasn't the Joker, he told himself, listening to the sounds of the brief battle, the warlord's warrior and the slavers. When he opened his eyes Bruce was crouched down beside him. Dick didn't dare move, but he couldn't stop himself from meeting the man's eyes either.

“It's okay now,” Bruce said and his voice sounded hoarse. There was a slaver strewn over some crates down the alley but the rest had disappeared. “You're safe.”

Dick mouthed the word, like he didn't believe it. He tried again and still no sound came out. He wasn't safe, he could never be safe because he was in Gotham.

Because he was alive and nowhere was safe.

“What is your name?” Bruce asked, and up close Dick could see how young he was. Somehow he had seemed like a legend, like a force of nature that had always been the dark hand of Gotham's Warlord. But up close it was clear he was still young, younger than Dick's parents had been.

Before...

“Dick,” he mumbled because Bruce Wayne was asking him a question and he dared not remain silent in the face of that.

“Dick,” Bruce repeated and Dick wanted to flinch because it sounded warm. “Where is your family?”

“I,” Dick blinked at him, swallowing back everything he wanted to say. “I don't have one,” he settled for finally. His back was pressed against the dirty wall and he dared not directly meet Bruce's gaze. He dared not even sit up.

For a long time there was silence and he was counting his heartbeats just to see how many more he had left. Because admitting he had no family was tantamount to admitting he had no one to miss him. Not that having a family would ever stop the Warlords but it only revealed how much more vulnerable he was.

“Was that why the slavers were after you?” Bruce asked.

“Not sure that would have mattered to them, one way or the other,” Dick said, and his eyes darted up before he swallowed and curled his knees closer to his chest, like he might protect his heart. He knew why the slavers had been after him, because of the way the other kids treated him, shoving him into walls and trying to steal kisses. When he shoved back, they sometimes turned resentful, but he'd rather a punch to the face or hurtful threats than someone trying to force their mouths on him, demanding something else entirely than simple physical violence.

And they had threatened him. He heard every variation of the warning that one day someone would take him and force him into their bed and if he was lucky maybe they'd treat him well before he got too worn out to be any use.

But most of the kids making that threat were still too young to figure out how to make that a reality, and Dick was fast and vicious enough so far to escape.

Now he was facing down Bruce Wayne and he figured his luck had at last run out.

At least Bruce Wayne was known for tearing his victims apart, not for raping them first.

“I want you to come with me,” Bruce said and Dick froze.

“What?” he rasped and wanted to crawl out of his own skin. Anything to get away from whatever those words implied.

“I'm going to take care of you,” Bruce said softly and Dick stared at him, his shoulders digging into the hard stone behind him. When Bruce reached a hand out to stroke his cheek, Dick flinched back and Bruce stopped before touching him. “I lost my family when I was around your age too.”

Dick's eyes flickered around his face, and he wanted to run away just to see how far he could get.

Instead he gave a tiny short nod and scrambled to his feet when Bruce stepped back to allow him the room.

-0-

Dick trailed after Bruce, stepping where he stepped just to focus on the challenge of the task he set himself. It was better than asking where they were going or why.

Bruce led him to an old apartment building, and into the basement. At the top of the stairs, Dick tensed before he forced himself down. He was already dead, he figured, he might as well see it through.

Except at the bottom of the steps was a slender, wide eyed man. “Bruce,” he said. “What is this?”

Dick staggered to a stop and looked at the man with eyes just as wide. “Alfred,” Bruce said, resting his hand on Dick's shoulder. “This is Dick.”

Dick tensed but remained frozen as Alfred looked between him and Bruce, shock painted all over his features.

“What are you doing with him?” Alfred asked finally.

“I'm going to take care of him,” Bruce said firmly and Dick felt something turn over in his stomach, for the first time almost starting to believe he meant what he said. If possible, Alfred just looked more flabbergasted.

“You cannot be serious,” he said.

“I am,” Bruce insisted.

Alfred ran a hand over his face and nodded, something tight in his expression. But he piled Dick with so much food he made himself sick eating it and put him in the same bed as himself. At first Dick had balked but Alfred had patiently pointed out they simply had no other place for him to sleep. When Dick remained stubbornly perched on one of the rickety chairs, Alfred had nodded and purposefully rolled himself to the far side of the bed with his back to Dick.

After a while Dick finally crawled onto the mattress, clinging to the edge of it with his back to Alfred.

He fell asleep when he heard Bruce leave in the middle of the day.

-0-

Two days later, Dick started to trail after Alfred like a lost duckling. Bruce spent most of his time gone and when he came back he was stony faced and silent.

Dick knew what he was doing but Bruce didn't realize that. Instead Bruce made a point of not mentioning it to Dick and Dick followed his cue. Anything to keep getting fed and to have someplace to hide. If Bruce Wayne wanted to pretend he was something he was not, Dick would never dare call him on it. 

He still slipped out during the day, and Alfred said nothing of this to Bruce.

On the third day, Dick came back inside and hid himself at the top of the stairs when he heard another voice down below.

“Has he just lost his mind?”

“I hardly know to what you refer, Master Dent,” Alfred said, level and almost bored.

“The child,” the voice snapped, and Dick knew it was Harvey Dent. After all, no other was seen with Bruce Wayne quite so often. “Why did he pick up a child?”

“Bruce's actions and reasons are his own,” Alfred said.

“It looks like weakness,” Harvey Dent returned. “Taking in a child—if he just said he wanted to train him, or to fuck him it would be easier.”

“I'm not sure either is his goal,” and Dick didn't imagine the ice that leaked into Alfred's voice.

“People are talking,” Harvey Dent continued. “It could be dangerous for both of them. The Joker is already taking bets.”

“On what?” Alfred asked, still icy.

Dick held his breath waiting for the answer but it never came. Perhaps Harvey Dent shrugged, or maybe he just needed a significant look for Alfred to understand his meaning that Dick would have missed. “Is he here?”

“No,” Alfred said.

“Are you lying to me?”

“What purpose would I have to do that?” Alfred asked.

Harvey Dent snorted. “I hear he's a pretty boy.”

“Indecently so,” Alfred agreed and Dick winced, tucking his knees under his chin and holding on. “But he is also bright. And very quick and agile. He survived a long time on his own. Whatever reasons Bruce has for bringing him in are his own.”

Harvey Dent snorted again. “And you are too loyal to him to ever dare speculate.”

“Indeed,” Alfred said. Dick looked up, deciding he could climb up the support beams for the basement. He hid up there long after Harvey Dent had left and even after Bruce Wayne came back.

A while after Bruce returned, Dick eased himself down and came down the stairs. He found Alfred sitting at the rickety table, Bruce kneeling in front of him, his shoulders shaking. When he reached the bottom step, Alfred looked up from where he was stroking Bruce's hair, and their eyes met.

Dick couldn't think of a time he saw someone look so sad. He hesitated, sitting on the bottom step and waiting with Alfred while Bruce cried.

-0-

The next day he knew something was happening, as the entire city seemed to drift toward the City Hall. He barely hesitated before he followed the crowd, keeping himself to the edges and using his lighter weight to stay on the fire escapes.

There was already a fire roaring in the center of the square, and moments after Dick found a perch on the edge of the square, Bruce came out of the City Hall. He was the Bruce that Dick knew, the same shape and form and yet totally different from the Bruce Dick had gotten closer to in the last few days.

He was also dragging a corpse.

-0-

Dick slid into the basement and Alfred met him at the bottom of the stairs. “Thank god you're here safe,” Alfred said, sweeping him into a hug and Dick's instinct to press into the touch and cling warred with every other instinct that warned him not to trust.

“Is something wrong?” Dick asked, hesitantly reaching up to return the hug. It felt like he was training himself back into the habits of trust and affection with every conscious choice he made around Alfred.

“No,” Alfred said but he was close to tears and Dick knew Alfred had known exactly what Bruce's plans had been.

A while later, Bruce finally came home. His forearms were covered in blood and Dick forced himself to remain seated where he was. Another conscious choice.

“Dick,” Bruce said softly and Dick met his eyes across the room. “Things are going to change now. All of Gotham is going to be different.”

Dick stared at him silently, unsure if he was willing to believe yet.

Bruce stepped forward, raised his hand and seemed to realize how much blood was on it before lowering it. Instead he knelt in front of Dick and Dick pressed his shoulder blades against the back of the chair, nearly rocking it back. “I am going to make this city a better place,” Bruce said and Dick realized he was swearing it to him, because he had to swear it to someone.

Dick realized all at once somehow he had become something more to this man than he realized. A token of his lost innocence perhaps, an object to protect. Either way, he was something more than he had been.

“Okay,” he said and lighted only with the candle on the table, he brushed his fingers across Bruce's forehead, a benediction he never knew he could give.

“I swear it,” Bruce said and Dick knew that he was making the oath on him, and for him.

He made a quiet oath of his own, his hand resting on Bruce's bowed head.


End file.
